


Distraction

by greenstone



Series: Spanking Sherlock [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Lestrade, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Insomnia, Pre-Series, Spanking, Younger Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 15:08:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3138782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenstone/pseuds/greenstone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exhausted but unable to sleep with Sherlock creating a disturbance in his sitting room, Greg hits upon an unconventional solution to both their problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distraction

Greg couldn't sleep. It was fast approaching 4am and he was utterly exhausted, but neither of those facts was helping matters. Try as he might (and he was really trying) he just could not fall asleep. This was partly because he was over-tired, but mostly to do with the fact that Sherlock Holmes was currently occupying the next room - and doing so with the disruptiveness he seemed to bring to everything he did.

It had been a very long and frustrating day, not least because of that man in the sitting room: Greg had spent most of the afternoon dealing with Sherlock turning up at his crime scene and pushing the boundaries of bad behaviour, even by his standards. When Greg had finally left work at 11pm, he had spent the journey home trying to decide whether he was more desperate for food or sleep, fantasising alternately about a huge steak and kidney pie washed down with a cold beer (though where he would get a pie at this time of night he had no idea), and his bed.

One thing was certain: if food and sleep had been top of Greg's wishlist, a picked lock and Sherlock in his sitting room had been absolutely at the bottom.

\---

Greg listened with fists clenched in irritation to the sound of dull thuds from the living room, as if Sherlock was repeatedly throwing things on the floor. For the previous three hours, every time Greg had come anywhere near drifting off, he had been jerked back to wakefulness by the sound of Sherlock banging about or muttering to himself. It was almost as if he was doing it on purpose to ensure that Greg would never actually be able to drift off. Greg wouldn't put it past him.

At a particularly loud thud - that was _definitely_ something hitting the floor this time, and whatever it was better not be broken or he was seriously going to throttle Sherlock - Greg got up off the bed in a sudden, swift movement. He marched into the sitting room. Sherlock was sprawled in the armchair, tangled in blankets, books scattered on the floor around him. He had evidently been pulling them in turn from the bookshelf next to him then dropping them unceremoniously when they proved of no interest. The heavy oak coffee table, tipped onto its side on the rug, explained the loudest thump Greg had heard. Thankfully for his blood pressure and Sherlock's continued existence, it looked undamaged.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded angrily.

Sherlock scowled up into Greg's face. In the dim light his face looked paler than ever and dark smudges stood out starkly under his eyes. "I'm bored."

"It's four in the bloody morning! Go to sleep! You look knackered enough." He glanced at the sofa, where he'd left Sherlock the blankets and a pillow. The latter was squashed - Sherlock had at least laid down at some point, then.

Sherlock huffed, and looked away. "Can't sleep."

"I noticed. And if you can't sleep, nobody else is allowed to either, is that your thinking? God, you're a selfish prick sometimes."

Sherlock looked irritable. "I need a distraction. Otherwise my brain won't stop. Distract me, Lestrade."

Greg felt his temper notch even higher at this typically imperious command. He had half a mind to just chuck Sherlock out and be done with it. But it was freezing out there, and where would he go? According to Sherlock his landlord had told him not to come back or he'd set his dogs on him. Greg had encountered the man once or twice: a chain-smoking skinhead with two pitbull terriers that were as ugly as he was. He wouldn't put it past the guy to go through with his threat. And to be honest, Sherlock had brought it on himself with his shitty attitude and habit of blowing his rent money on coke.

Greg ground his teeth at the thought. "Right. Up."

Sherlock looked pleased at this apparent prompt acquiescence to his demand for distraction. He sat up. "What have you got in mind?"

Greg shook his head to indicate 'never you mind'. "Up," he repeated, voice cold and firm. Sherlock looked curiously at him, but for once did as he was told, extracting himself from the blankets and getting up out of the chair. He'd stripped down to his boxer briefs for the attempt at sleep, and now stood in front of Greg, skinny and pale, chin jutting with a hint of defiance.

Greg turned him by the shoulder and pushed him towards the bedroom, Sherlock stumbling slightly.

He flicked on the light as they entered his room and gestured at the bed. "Lie down," he ordered, and then when Sherlock made to lie on his back, "On your front."

Sherlock shot him a look, clearly trying to work out where Greg was going with this, but stretched out on the bed on his front, arms at shoulder height and face turned in Greg's direction.

Greg smacked him hard on the arse.

"OW!" yelped Sherlock, flipping onto his back and glaring daggers at Greg. "What are you doing?!" 

Greg met his eye with a hard look. "You said you needed a distraction. Well, God knows you're also in sore need of a smacked bottom, so here you go: two birds with one stone. Roll over."

"No!" said Sherlock indignantly.

Greg sighed, leant down to grab a bony shoulder and pushed Sherlock onto his front again. Holding Sherlock down with a broad hand on his back, he smacked Sherlock's arse firmly and repeatedly.

Sherlock immediately started yelling and wriggling hard, but Greg paid him no attention. Raising his voice above Sherlock's shouts, he said, "You're an idiot. And an obnoxious brat. If you _ever_ come to a crime scene high again, I will arrest you. If you ever disrespect me in front of my team again like you did this afternoon, I'll make sure you're never allowed near another crime scene. Do I make myself clear?"

"Stop it! Let me go!"

Greg slapped harder, and Sherlock squirmed like an eel. "I said, _do I make myself clear, young man_?"

"YES, fine, whatever!"

"Good." Greg stopped the spanking and tapped Sherlock's hip. "Get these off."

"What? No!"

"Get them off now, Sherlock, or you can get out of my flat and find someone else to keep up all night."

Sherlock lay still for a moment, and Greg wondered what he would do. Sherlock didn't obey orders or respect threats. But he also detested being bored, and could never resist things which were new and unexpected. Greg was not overly surprised when Sherlock rolled over and, slightly awkwardly, wriggled out of his underwear and threw it on the floor. What did surprise him was to see that Sherlock was half-hard. Sherlock turned quickly back onto his front.

"Okay," said Greg, feeling a bit thrown. He looked at Sherlock's round bare arse. It was slightly pink from the smacking he'd got over his pants.

"Move to the edge of the bed," he ordered. "Toes on the floor." Doing this while standing up was awkward; this way he could perch on the edge of the bed next to Sherlock, whose backside was now positioned nicely for his hand. It wasn't a million miles away from putting Sherlock over his lap. But far preferable, he thought, mind flashing to that glimpse of Sherlock's semi-erect cock. The thought of having that pressed into his lap made him flush.

He slapped Sherlock's bare bottom. The smack sounded much louder than the ones over Sherlock's underwear had done. Greg thought suddenly of the neighbours and what they would be making of all this racket. Then he decided that he didn't care. He slapped again, then again, building a steady rhythm, alternating between Sherlock's buttocks, then every so often throwing in a few smacks to one cheek in a row, making Sherlock squirm.

Sherlock had a surprisingly round arse for such a skinny kid. Greg concentrated on turning the pale skin a nice even shade of pink. He wasn't holding Sherlock down any longer, but although Sherlock gradually started writhing around again, he didn't make any real attempt to get away. 

When the lower two thirds of Sherlock's buttocks were a uniform bright red, Greg turned his attention to the backs of his thighs, right at the top where they met his arse, and Sherlock buried his face in the duvet and grunted slightly with each blow to the sensitive skin. He wiggled his arse from side to side as Greg smacked the same spot repeatedly, as if trying to escape Greg's hand, but Greg followed the movement easily and didn't let up.

"Lestrade," said Sherlock, his voice breathy and slightly choked.

"Mm?"

"I think that's enough now. I feel quite - ngh - quite distracted."

Greg's mouth quirked, but he did not stop spanking. "Glad to hear it. You'll remember though that we were killing two birds with this stone. The other being your serious need for someone to take you in hand. We're not done here until I decide you've been sufficiently punished."

Sherlock wriggled uncomfortably. "And - ah - how long do you anticipate that will - ow - that will take?"

Greg didn't answer for a moment, focussing on delivering a series of stinging slaps back and forward over the upturned curve of Sherlock's bottom, making Sherlock mutter repeated 'ow's into the duvet.

Then he paused briefly, stilling his hand. "Hmm," he said thoughtfully, rubbing Sherlock's rosy backside and feeling the heat that rose from the skin. "I think we're nearly there now."

He brought his hand down again on Sherlock's left buttock, and Sherlock let out a gasp.

"Yep, just a final little something to help you remember how to behave in future," Greg told him, and upped his tempo so that the smacks fell thick and fast against Sherlock's sensitive bottom.

"Ow ow OW!" Sherlock yelped, squirming harder than ever. Greg kept it up for a few moments, as Sherlock scrabbled under him, then with a final slap across both buttocks, he stopped.

Neither of them moved for a minute, both breathing hard. Greg suddenly became aware of how much his hand was stinging, now that his anger had burnt out and the adrenaline was fading. He flexed his fingers and rubbed at his reddened palm. At least he could be sure that the sting in his hand was nothing to that in Sherlock's arse. He surveyed Sherlock's red backside and reflected that if this didn't give Sherlock something to focus on and calm down his spinning brain, nothing would.

He stood up from the bed at the same moment as Sherlock levered himself up, hands immediately moving behind him to squeeze his hot, sore buttocks. They stood suddenly facing each other, and Greg saw that Sherlock's erection, far from flagging under the punishment, was hard and straining for attention. Sherlock met his gaze, an expression in his eyes that Greg couldn't properly interpret, although it certainly didn't look like embarrassment, and Greg felt his own cock twitch. There was something horribly erotic about Sherlock in that moment: his usually pale skin flushed and sheened with sweat; his dark curls tumbling messily over his forehead; the pose, with hands rubbing his well-spanked backside, making him look like a naughty child, but his raging erection and the knowing, almost challenging look in those wide grey eyes telling quite a different story. Greg knew he was staring, and hastily looked away, willing himself not to blush.

He picked up Sherlock's discarded underwear and threw it at him. "Go and sleep," he ordered, then added as a thought struck him, "But if you're going to deal with...that, do it in the bathroom; I don't want you making a mess of my sofa."

Sherlock stood there a moment longer, regarding Greg as if he might say something. Greg avoided his gaze and busied himself with straightening the duvet on his bed. When he turned back, Sherlock had gone.


End file.
